


Joyeux Noel

by babyblueavenger



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Can Be Read As Dad!Spy If You Want, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mostly Fluff, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyblueavenger/pseuds/babyblueavenger
Summary: Spy and Scout bump into each other in a church on Christmas Eve. They bond.





	Joyeux Noel

“I swear to God, Spy, if this gets out to anybody…”

From his reaction, one would think Spy had just caught Scout streaking naked through Teufort, instead of attending Midnight Mass. He certainly had the look of unadulterated embarrassment to match. 

“I mean, what the hell are you even doing here?” Scout asked. 

“Same as you, I would imagine,” Spy replied as casually as he could. “And watch your language. We’re in a church.”

Scout ducked his head down, and Spy saw his ears flush red. Dear lord, this was almost too much.

Spy bit back a chuckle as best he could. Not only would it have rendered his cloaking watch completely useless (and he imagined hearing disembodied laughter would send the rest of the congregation into a panic), but there was a large part of him that just didn’t feel right mocking Scout. Normally, that wouldn’t have been an issue to him. At work, he reveled in taking the cocky little whelp down a peg. For the past eight months, ever since this contract began, Scout had been a persistent thorn in Spy’s side, with his loud, obnoxious voice, his crass manners, and his inflated ego. This would have been the perfect opportunity to take a dig. 

But Spy found he simply couldn’t.

Maybe it was just the sheer shock of finding Scout here, of all places, at the only Catholic church within twenty miles of the backwater New Mexico town, at the pew in the very back. 

Maybe it was the fact he actually looked...presentable. Spy had to admit - the boy cleaned up well. When he’d seen Scout walk in, he’d barely recognized him. He had no idea where Scout kept this well-pressed suit hidden in the base, but it fit him perfectly, and the tie was done with an immaculate knot. His ashy blonde hair - normally unkempt from being stuffed under his hat all day - was combed. His face was even freshly shaved of the scant peach fuzz he usually allowed to grow. 

And then there was the expression Scout had when he entered, one of genuine solemnity, dipping his finger in the font of water by the door and fluidly crossing himself. Like he’d done it a thousand times. 

Whatever the reason, Spy thought that this was one night when he could give Scout a little leeway. It hadn’t stopped him from slipping into the pew next to Scout and nearly making him wet himself when he’d made his presence known, but that was neither here nor there. 

They had thirty minutes to kill before the service started, after all. 

“I didn’t even know you were Catholic,” Scout grumbled.

“Nor I you,” Spy replied. “Although judging by the fact you felt as though you had to come here in secret, I imagine you didn’t want anyone to know anyway.”

“You really think the guys would let me hear the end of this?”

“Honestly, I think you give them too much credit. Most of them probably don’t even know what Midnight Mass is. And even if they did, it’s none of their business.”

“Yeah, well, I’d still like it not to get around.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Spy fished around in his pocket, just to have something to do. He gently traced the wooden beads of the rosary there. He preferred to do it after the service was over, when things were quieter, but he liked knowing it was there. It was comforting.

“Also, I don’t think the guy using an invisibility watch should really giving me crap about hiding stuff.”

Spy tightened his grip on the rosary. The boy was smarter than he appeared. 

“You don’t think people would find it strange if a masked man suddenly showed up in their church?”

“You can literally change into anyone, Spy. Or you could just, I dunno, take off your mask.”

“Ah, but then all the good Catholic ladies would have to confess sinful thoughts when they saw such a handsome rogue.” 

Scout rolled his eyes. “Now who needs to be reminded they’re in a church.”

Spy couldn’t help chuckling then. He was pleased when Scout smirked a bit.

“Least you’re better than my brothers,” Scout continued. “You’re not actually hitting on the women here like you’re at a single’s mixer or something.”

“See? My cloak is useful for something. Otherwise this pew would be mobbed with women.”

Scout nudged him with his shoulder, but the smirk was still in place. “So how this hold up to the French version of Midnight Mass?”

“This is my first one in English, so no comparisons yet. Of course, I haven’t been to a proper one in many years.”

“How many are we talking?”

Spy thought for a moment, adding and subtracting years in his mind. Finally, he said, “Fifteen, I would say.”

He could feel Scout’s eyes on him, knew his expression was puzzled and shocked. 

“That was around the time I began this career. You’d be amazed at how often I found myself too busy around the holidays to attend.”

“What about when you were a kid? Did your parents take you then?”

“My grandmother did,” Spy said before he could stop himself. He felt a cold sweat prick at the back of his neck. Why had he said that? Why was he letting Scout dig around in his past? Why wasn’t he shutting him down? Why had he even let the little idiot know he was here?

He cast a side-eyed look at Scout, eternally grateful for the cloaking watch hiding what must have been a look of sheer panic on his face. Scout had started flipping through the hymnal in the back of the pew in front of them, looking completely uninterested in the tidbit Spy had just dropped about his life. Spy let himself breathe again. 

Thank heaven for Scout’s short attention span. The last thing he needed was to spill his guts to a child he barely knew.

\--------

The service was as lovely as Spy remembered. True, there were a few too many “give money to fix up the church” moments for his liking, and it was certainly no Notre Dame, but it was still very nice. 

As people started filing out, Scout remained in the pew, waiting for the crowd to thin out. 

Spy also held back. He traced his fingers over the rosary in his pocket once more.

Scout turned to him and said quietly, “You need a ride back to base? I snagged the keys to Engie’s truck.”

Spy was about to say no. He’d called in a favor to get here, an old friend he’d helped out of a tight jam ten years ago, and he could call him again. But a blast of cold air pushed through the door just as he opened his mouth, reminding him that he’d be stuck waiting out in that cold for the ride. Engineer’s truck may have been a rattletrap nightmare, but at least it was warm.

“Can you wait for about twenty minutes?” Spy asked. “I need to take care of something before I leave.”

“Sure, man,” Scout replied. He stood and grabbed his coat. “See you in a few.” He scooted his way out of the pew, and followed the crowd out the door. Finally, the church was empty.

Spy pulled the rosary out of his pocket. It was at least seventy years old. It had been his grandmother’s, passed down to her by her own mother. Originally intended to be given to his mother, before pneumonia strangled the life from her lungs. 

It had been given to him when he was six. It was the one thing he’d managed to hold on to from any member of his family. He had nothing else, not even a picture. There were days when he had to struggle to remember what his parents looked like. 

It makes him sick that he can more vividly remember the horrible men that snatched him out of the chaotic streets than his own parents, his own grandmother. His stomach churned now, just thinking about it. 

He tore his mind away from burning cities and men with foul breath and ill intent. He clutched the rosary in his fingers, willing away the feeling of their disgusting hands on him. He crossed himself, trying not to think of dark rooms and leering strangers, and instead focused on what he could remember.

Soft, dark hair.

Peppermint hand oil.

A simple string of pearls, worn with everything.

The tension eased from his shoulders.

He began to mutter the creed in French. He knew it in seven languages, but French always felt the most right. 

\--------

Scout had the heat going full blast when Spy reached the truck. Sliding into the passenger seat was like sticking his head in a hot oven. It felt miraculous after the biting December wind had assaulted his face, even through the fabric of his mask. He finally deactivated his cloak, and a gentle whisper of smoke made him solid again.

Who on earth would have known a place like New Mexico could be this cold?

Scout said nothing as he put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot. Theirs was the only car left, and one of the few still out on the street. It was almost two, after all. 

They rode in silence for several minutes. Spy was glad of it. He didn’t really feel like talking. It had suddenly dawned on him how awkward it was going to be with Scout in the future, knowing this about each other. Would Scout assume they were friends now? Because they’d attended a church service together in secret? Thinking about the behavior Scout typically engaged in, knowing that tonight was a once-a-year sort of thing with the boy, he doubted that immensely. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy used it as blackmail some time down the road.

“Sorry for prying earlier, Spy,” Scout said suddenly. 

Spy was jolted from his thoughts, and looked over at the younger man. Scout’s focus was on the road in front of him, his face serious and determined.

“I didn’t mean to bring up stuff you didn’t want to talk about,” Scout continued. 

“What do you mean?” Spy knew exactly what Scout meant.

“When I asked about your family. Even without seeing your face I knew I crossed a line.”

“Am I that obvious?” Spy tried desperately to sound casual, leaning his body against the door, pressing his head against the cold window. 

“Well, when a guy abruptly stops talking and you can practically feel him tense up, that’s usually a pretty sure sign you said something you shouldn’t have.” Scout eased the truck to a stop at a red light. He took the opportunity to turn his head towards Spy.

The boy was far more insightful than Spy ever imagined. He wondered where Scout hid this side of himself the rest of the year.

Spy sighed a bit. “It was not your fault,” he replied. “You could not have known.”

“Still sorry,” Scout said. “I know people bringing up stuff you don’t wanna talk about is rough. That’s how I felt for years after my dad died.”

Spy said nothing. What could he say?

The light turned green.

Spy reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his cigarette case. He’d been wanting one ever since the service ended. He lit it and took a long drag. He cracked the window a bit to blow out the smoke.

Now that his nerves felt less jangled, he said, “How did your father die?”

“Korea,” Scout replied. 

“I’m sorry.”

Scout shrugged. “I would have given anything for people to stop telling me that when I was younger.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven. It almost didn’t feel real, ya know?”

Spy took another drag and blew out the smoke. It did less to take off the edge this time. Why was he being told this? Why was he encouraging it?

Scout kept talking. “Everybody just thought that I must be sad because he died when I was so young, but really, I didn’t feel a whole helluva lot. My brothers all had these great memories with him. To them, he was a hero. By the time I was old enough to have any memories of him, he was already on the plane out. Only reason I really cried is ‘cause Ma was. I always hated seeing her cry...” 

He trailed off. Spy chanced a glance at Scout’s face, and saw the strangest mix of emotions there. Sadness mingled with uncertainty and frustration. He ventured to guess it felt about as perplexing as it looked. 

They drove another few minutes in silence. Spy knew they’d be reaching the base soon. Another drag, another puff of smoke vanishing into the chilly night. 

It slowly dawned on him what Scout had been trying to do - opening himself up, rendering himself vulnerable for the sake of someone else. Letting Spy know that whatever he was hiding, someone else might understand too. It was actually rather...sweet.

Good heavens, Scout was full of surprises tonight. 

Spy flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window. He suddenly found he didn’t want it anymore. 

“When I was a teenager, I was living in the streets like a dog.” Spy spoke without thinking about it. He knew if he allowed himself to think about it, he’d never get the words out. “When the winter came, I would try to find warm places to sleep. Churches were usually where I ended up.”

“Thought you had a grandmother.”

“I did. She raised me from the time I was three. After my parents died.”

“What happened to her?”

“We were separated when the Germans invaded, and I haven’t seen her since. I was eleven. I assume she died during the war.” Spy felt his fingers shaking. He wanted to reach back into his suit jacket for his cigarette case, but he didn’t trust himself not to drop it. Instead, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the rosary, gently tracing his thumb over the wooden cross.

Scout eased the truck to a stop. Spy hadn’t even realized they’d left the main road, past the backdrops Mann Co. provided to keep curious townspeople away, and had made it to the base. Scout had pulled the truck up next to Sniper’s camper van, where it was always parked. Engineer would be none the wiser come tomorrow.

Or rather, later today, he supposed. A glance at the clock on the dash showed it was half past two.

Scout made no move to get out of the truck. Instead, he turned towards Spy, his face completely unreadable. Spy couldn’t force himself to look back.

He had no idea how this would affect things between them. He’d just spilled his entire life story to a boy he didn’t even particularly like all that much. A boy who’d also opened up about his own pain, just so Spy wouldn’t feel alone. 

All because they’d both been sneaking into a church. 

It was almost farcical. All that was missing was a sappy Christmas carol.

He didn’t understand any of this. He was so tired. Too tired to process any of this emotional fluff he’d exorcised from his life long ago. Disciplined himself to ignore now.

Why had he ever opened his stupid mouth in that church?

Scout turned away, finally, looking towards the darkened base. Spy wondered if he found this all as ridiculous as he did.

Suddenly, Scout cast a glance back over to him, and gave his arm a gentle nudge. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you inside. You look like crap.”

“I can blame most of that on you, you know.” He narrowed his eyes at the boy.

“Yeah, which is why I’m offering to take you inside. Ya know, where it’s warm, and you got a bed,” Scout said, smiling a bit as he opened the door and got out of the cab. A cold gust of air blew in after him.

“I don’t know what compelled me to tell you any of this,” Spy muttered, more to himself than Scout.

Scout cast his glance back over to Spy, and said simply, “Probably the same thing that got you back in a church after fifteen years.”

Spy clutched the rosary a little tighter in his hand. 

Perhaps so.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals. Have some light, adorable, badly-ended-cuz-I-was-sick-of-looking-at-it fluff between Scout and Spy. It's what Christmas is really all about!


End file.
